Yesterday we decided to have game night. I could say I was excited for an evening of family bonding, but why lie?

It’s usually straight up torture. My kids are extremely competitive when it comes to “fun” games. Time and again I’ve declared that I will never play with them again because they suck the fun right out of it.

While winning, they’re having the time of their lives, but when the tables start to turn, they’re ready to turn the table. Literally. As in, I raised a bunch of sore-losing board-flippers.

We usually watch a movie together on Saturday nights, but after having to sit through Tom and Jerry last week, I gladly said ok when everyone wanted to go their own way and skip movie night.

Side note: The nerve of Hollywood to take that near-perfect cartoon and turn it into whatever that thing was.

But before I could revel in the glory of not having to sit through a terrible movie selection, one of my kids suggested game night instead 😫

I almost took a pass, but since my 13-year-old was willing to participate when he barely wants to leave his room anymore, I took one for the team (“the team” being my broken heart and watery eyeballs whenever he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.)

We played Monopoly – or as I’ve called it my entire life, Monop – because I’m that cool. My middle son was really excited because he somehow manages to win every time, earning him the nickname, The Slum Lord.

In real life he’s the sweetest kid, especially to his dad who he thinks does no wrong … ever (it’s annoying.) But when it comes to Monop, he’ll gladly throw his dear old dad under the Rolls Royce if it means getting his greedy little hands on Park Place. Ruthless.

My whole rat-fink family was counting on me to lose because I always lose. But in true baller fashion, not like these fake-ass loudmouths who talk about what they got, I kept my head down and my mouth shut.

I slowly stacked my piles and quietly bought up the Reds – or what PJ, my cousin Beaner, and I refer to as The Danger Zone. (Yes we named it after the Loggins tune from Top Gun and sing it whenever we play. I told you I was that cool) 😎

As per usual, my middle son was winning, but then I made a move that prompted him to say the following words. To me. His mother.

“I pray you go to jail.”

Shocked. Stunned. Appalled. I yelled across the board, “I gave birth to youuuu!!!!!”

The Slum Lord didn’t care so I upped the ante.

“They cut me open and removed you from my stomach!!!!!”

Nothing. Lord of the Slums don’t care. He just wants his money.

Well guess what folks, with patience and persistence, literally THREE hours later, after my eldest happily gave up, and PJ and my youngest went bankrupt, it was just me and The Slum Lord – AND. I. WON. 🏆 💵 🎉

Two lessons here:

1. Don’t ever give up.

2. Don’t mess with this mother. Especially if she’s yours.